Tag Archives: Bad

Flirting In Canada

I was a man

And she was not.

She hadn’t noticed me

But I thought she was hot.

I approached her politely

And told her “I’m Dan.”

She was, in hindsight, not pleased

So I got two years in the can.

I remember when men

Were not seen as a foe,

But not anymore

Thanks to Justin Trudeau.

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This Is Closer To Reality Than I’d Like (And Yes, Niche Does Rhyme With Itch)

Sometimes I wish I were an itch,

An itch that can’t be scratched

So I could bug the ugly thug

To whom you are attached.

Then when you were single

I would steal away your heart

And just like that eternal itch

We’d never be apart.

But eventually you’d hate me

And the scratching I’d inspire

And you’d dump me for some other jerk

Of whom you would soon tire

Then I would swoop back to you,

Your faithful little itch

And maybe this time you won’t dump me?

What do you mean my fetish is niche…

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Nice Guys Finish Last… It’s A Gift

All I want for Christmas

Is a lump of coal.

I hope I get one soon.

My only problem

Is I’m a good boy

And also that it’s June.

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Buzzfeed Journalism

Everything in life worth knowing

Can be found in a hard-boiled egg.

If you don’t see how that’s possible

Your name probably isn’t Greg.

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Is The Red Meat Yellow?

If you ever meet a cannibal

And it wants to eat your flesh

And you want to look less finger-lickin’ good

Then scream and cry and wail

‘Cause cannibals don’t like

The taste of chicken. Are we understood?

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You Pull Me Down (The Alcohol Song)

When my body is strong

And my conscience is clean,

When troubles flee

And there’s no pain to be seen

Then I sip you

And fade into the white noise

Until the darkness comes

And has its way with me.

You pull me down

So I can walk on water.

You pull me down

To kiss a killer bee.

I am loud

And damp and have a bee sting.

You pull me down

And show the real me.

Then I awake

And find my house is tattered,

My lampshade’s gone

And so’s my front door key

And on my arm

My blood says “Margueritte wuz here.”

I don’t know her

But I guess she knew me.

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On Acceptable Mediocrity And Busy Schedules

When one cannot find the time

To come up with a clever rhyme

Or twist to end a bit of verse

One may perchance become terse.

One may then search and one may find

That a lousy poem they don’t mind,

That stuff can be bad yet still okay

And that’s the tale of my poem today!

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